


Epstein Elementary

by anantonym



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, First Meetings, M/M, McLennon, My First Fanfic, Paul's thoughts, Slow Burn, starrison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anantonym/pseuds/anantonym
Summary: WIP Elementary School AU in which Paul is the principal, John is the vice principal, Ringo is a teacher, and George is a cafeteria chef. This is going to be a slow burn story.





	1. First Impression

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in very early stages.
> 
> Sorry if the writing is bad, I don't have anybody to edit and this is my first attempt at writing something online.
> 
> I'd love it if you'd comment and give feedback :D
> 
> Chapters are pretty short :)
> 
> Full disclosure: I don't own the Beatles or any of their works, please don't sue me!

Paul sighed as he slumped down in his chair; he'd been waiting precisely 17 minutes in his office for the new vice principal to arrive. His newly ironed dress pants and shirt were probably wrinkled by now from restlessly shifting in his chair. He closed his eyes and his mind began to wander.

_ Maybe he was stuck in traffic? A family emergency? _

Paul was always making excuses for other people, a fault in some people’s minds and something to take advantage of in others, but before he was able to continue his train of thought, a loud knock on his desk nearly threw him off the chair.

Caught off guard, Paul tried to remember the greeting he’d worked so hard on. “Uh -- hey! Hello? Sorry, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Paul McCartney, your new boss. That is, assuming you’re-”

“John Lennon,” said the man in front of Paul, smirking. He stood in a relaxed position, one hand in a pocket of his denim jacket, the other resting on his orange corduroy pants. Despite the man’s tardiness and lack of professionalism, Paul couldn't help but feel entranced by him. “Sorry for being so late, my watch hasn't been winded.”

Paul glanced at John’s left wrist and smiled back, baring his teeth. He always did appreciate a mechanical watch. “That’s alright. Please sit down,” he said, “So what school did you work at before, if you don’t mind my asking?”

John ran a hand through his shaggy auburn hair. “Well, to tell ya the truth, this is my first. My aunt’s on the school board, you see, so she fixed me up.”

Paul gulped.  _ Of course they sent me someone with no experience. _ “Don’t worry, I’ll make an independent principal out of you in less than a week!” he joked.

John smiled playfully at the remark. “I wouldn't mind a little longer,” he responded as he scooched his chair closer, “I start on Monday I suppose?”

_ Was that a flirt? No… maybe? Of course not, what am I thinking? Curse my social skills. _

Paul was only a few inches away from John now, and his heart was beating rather quickly.  _ Definitely… handsome. A distinguished nose. Faraway look in his eyes.  _ The world around him slowly began to blur in comparison. _I bet he writes poetry like a tortured_ _soul. Drinks at local coffee shops and plays acoustic guitar. Probably bikes everywhere just for the aesthetic._ “Paul?” John whispered, waving his hand slowly in front of his face.

“Yes. Uhh- Monday indeed,” Paul stammered. His hands shook slightly as he rummaged in his desk for the forms and information to give him, but after a minute of searching he realized that he’d forgotten to print them. “Silly me, I guess I’ll have to email the papers to you before Monday.”

John snickered, “Email? What are you, 64? Give me your phone, I’ll type in my number.” Paul nearly threw his phone into John’s outstretched hand and casually rested his cheeks in his palms to hide his blushing until John finished entering his phone number.

“See you on Monday! I-I’ll introduce you to the rest of the staff,” said Paul, awkwardly waving his hand. John bowed mockingly and left, humming a mysterious tune and leaving poor Paul alone with his pulverized heart. Paul took one last look out of the window to see him gliding away on a battered bike.

_ What has this man done to me? _


	2. Chapter 2

_Sent 6 images to J_

J: is that u paul

P: yes. and thats mr. mccartney to you

P: fill those out before tomorrow

J: all of them, mr. mccartney?? But, mr. mccartney, there are so many! Tell me, mr. mccartney, how can i??

P: .-. fine you can call me paul if it’ll get you to fill them out today

J: thanks paulie

P: no. not paulie

J: one day :)

J: or should i call u sir

J: do u like that

P: …

P: shut upthats unproffessional

J: .

J: i was only asking if u would prefer sir

J: i didnt know u were so kinky

P: im not. and im not gay either

J: shame

_Did he just…?_

P: this conversation is over

P: i’ll see you tomorrow

Paul put his phone down on the kitchen table and clasped his hands. He’d seen the man just yesterday and still couldn't get enough. He told himself that he was always excited to meet new people and that was that. John was different, so it was natural for Paul to be curious, right? _These feelings won’t last more than a week._

\-------------------------------------------

Paul poured a tall mug of coffee for himself in the staff room and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes. He was barely ready to wake up, let alone introduce John to the main staff members. He heard the door open and looked to see who it was.

“Oh. You,” Paul said, narrowing his eyes mockingly at George, his childhood friend.

“Hoping for someone else?” he laughed, taking 5 biscuits from the counter. He had an insatiable appetite. Not a second later, the door opened again and Ringo came in.

“Where’s the new guy? Shouldn't he be waiting for us instead of the other way ‘round?” he scowled, motioning for George to throw him a biscuit that he didn't manage to catch. He cursed under his breath and began to vigorously wipe the crumbs off his shirt and jeans. Paul and George shot each other a glance and burst into laughter.

Finally, the door swung open and John walked in. _God, he looks good in a turtleneck._ “Sir,” he said smugly, giving a nod in Paul’s direction.

Paul swallowed and began to introduce the group, “This is George Harrison, our cafeteria chef.” Ringo sneered at the remark. “More like _resident eater_. Paul only keeps him here ‘cause they've been mates since who knows when.” George would have retorted but his mouth was stuffed with a combination of dry biscuits and day-old coffee.

“This is Richard Starkey, but we call him Ringo. He’s a teacher and curriculum leader,” he continued. Ringo grabbed John’s hand with both of his own and shook it vigorously. “It’s my job to ruin the workers of tomorrow,” he smiled. Even Paul’s disapproving look couldn't stop him from acting so… well, Ringo-ish.

After about 5 seconds, John had to wrench his hand away from Ringo’s powerful grip. “John Lennon, pleased to meet the dream team,” he introduced himself. In the hour before school began, Paul’s ‘dream team’ was supposed to train John to manage phone calls and late students. Instead, George and Ringo started a game of catch with giant paper-clips and Paul was left with the job.

After about half an hour of drilling John’s mind with rules, they could finally enjoy a cup of coffee. Ringo had to leave early to prepare a new classroom activity and George was off to the cafeteria preparing food for a horde of hungry students (and himself). John carefully placed Paul’s mug in front of him, even turning it so the handle was on his right.

“I’m actually a leftie,” Paul grinned, taking a sip of the coffee that John had just prepared. His eyes widened momentarily but he quickly concealed his surprise - or so he thought.

“Like it that much, do you?” said John, “If you’re a leftie, why d’ya grab it with your right anyway?”

_He can see right through me, the cocky bastard. Best coffee I've ever had, and he did it with that crappy machine._

“I’ve had better,” Paul lied through his teeth. John could definitely tell, there was no question about it. It didn't help that Paul was gulping it down as if he’d been quenched for days. “And I can use my right hand for most things, but if I try to do anything accurate like play the guitar with it, I’d trip over my balls.”

“A guitarist?” John said inquisitively, “I dabble a bit myself y’know. We ought to start a band.” Paul chuckled at the statement, but before he could say anything, the first bell rang and they hurried to the main office as the students rushed in.

The office phone rang and John’s hand hovered above it as he looked at Paul for approval. Paul nodded. “The time has come for your first challenge,” he said dramatically. John picked up the phone and set it on speaker-phone, “Vice principal Lennon speaking.”

“Is my son at school? He wasn't here this morning when I woke up,” said the woman on the phone, her voice wavering. “His name?” John asked and wrote it down as she told him.

“I’ll just put you on hold for a minute or two,” said John as he pressed what he believed to be the hold button. He heard a slap next to him and looked over to see Paul’s hand on his forehead. “And you were doing so well!” he exclaimed, prompting John to look back at the phone and realize that he had hung up on the poor woman.

Paul slowly reached across John to show him how to call back and flushed when his arm brushed against his neck. "S-sorry," he muttered, pressing the buttons and passing the phone to him. John turned to face him and mouthed "what for?" before returning to apologize to the woman and inform her that her son had indeed made it to school. 

_What for… he said, what for? What does that mean? Did he like it when I touched him? Or did he just not mind it? Did he even say it? Am I hallucinating?_

“Paul?” John asked, looking at him with genuine concern, “Are you alright? You seem a bit… distracted.” Paul snapped out of his trance and chewed on his fingernails, “Huh? Ye-Yes I’m fine. Just thinking about stuff y’know? Like… girls. Yup, females. The fairer sex.”

“Any girl in particular?” John inquired, raising an eyebrow. Paul shook his head, saturated with redness. “Really?” John said, “Pretty boy like you, I thought the women would be flocking.”

“P-p-pretty?” Paul said, a hand resting on his neck. He was taken aback by the statement, but he wanted to know more. He _had_ to know more, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

“Yeah, you know, walking about with your doe eyes and droopy eyelids. Your pouty lips,” he continued, rolling his chair closer. “Not to mention your perfect eyebrows,” he whispered directly in his ear. Paul began to heave and felt sweat accumulating all over. “I have to go, t-to the bathroom” he stammered, running to the bathroom. He locked himself inside a stall and supported himself on the door.

_The teasing scoundrel. Bet he does this to every lad he happens upon. I can control myself until he gets transferred. Yes, I’ll send a transfer request as soon as I get home. My mind is made up._

He left the stall only to be met by two curious figures. “George? Ringo? What are you doing here? Together too, at that!” Paul said, leaning casually against the wall.

“Nevermind that, Paul! We’re just two lads who happened to need a piss at the same time. What were you doing in there, breathing all heavily? Didn’t hear any trickling, that’s for sure. Having a wank, were you? You filthy bastard!” said George, beaming as if he’d unlocked the secrets of the cosmos. Paul gave him a dirty look as if to say “you know me better than that” and left without washing his hands. He could feel their gazes on his back before he returned to the office.

Paul went back to his seat and hoped he could avoid torment, but John grabbed his hand and slowly sniffed at it, moving the edges of his fingers against his nose. “Doesn’t smell like soap,” he noted, “Doesn’t smell like piss either.”

“It’s unscented soap,” Paul muttered, his hand shaking in John’s. A student ran into the office and they quickly broke apart before John could say anything. They gave her an ice pack and stayed in silence when the student left.

Paul twiddled his thumbs, making efforts to avoid John as much as possible for the rest of the day. Running errands that never existed. John was poison, after all. How was Paul supposed to get anything productive done with him around?

_Better get that transfer form after school if I’m ever gonna send it in._

About 20 minutes after the final bell rang, Paul was sure everyone had left and took a transfer request form from his desk before looking up and seeing John. “What are you doing?” he asked. Paul gulped. “Nothing,” he responded weakly. John reached across to take the paper and Paul did nothing to stop him.

After what seemed to Paul like hours of reading the paper, John gave it back. “It’s okay, I’ll stop. You don’t need to transfer me,” he said and left in an instant.

Paul sulked the whole walk home. Even if John stopped playing with his feelings, he’d still be distracted by his smile, his soft and glowing hair. Everything about him drove Paul crazy, whether he was flirting or not.

_Why didn’t I take the form?_

He shook his head to himself as he unlocked the door and stumbled into his house. The issue dominated his brain while he prepared for bed. Even after laying in bed for fifteen minutes, he only felt more sleeplessness. Taking his phone from the bedside, he opened the chat and began to type.

P: We need to talk.

At least now he could sleep knowing he tried _something_.


	3. Chapter 3

Paul woke up at 7:00am, wishing he had enough time to fall asleep again. The urge to close his eyelids, however, quickly dissipated when he remembered the message he sent last night. He rolled over and turned on his phone, biting his lip when he saw there were no new notifications. _Maybe the notification got blocked?_ He opened his texts and groaned when he saw that John had left him on read.

Life stops for no one, and neither does work. Paul changed into his usual outfit: black pants and a white collared shirt. George and Ringo consistently made fun of him for it; elementary schoolchildren weren’t going to judge him on attire after all, but he still chose to dress for success. Even though his prospects seemed more and more grim as time went on, he decided not to give up on his dreams… whatever they were.

\--------------------------------------

The moment he stepped into the school, Paul caught a glimpse of John’s jean jacket. He shouted his name, but John wouldn’t turn around. After a few seconds of deliberation, he ran after him. Alas, John was nowhere to be seen, so Paul turned left and started to walk in the direction of the staff room. However, he was soon stopped in his tracks by a soft crumple beneath his right foot. He stepped back and looked to see that he had stepped on a piece of paper. Carefully picking it up, he lightly brushed the dust off and unfolded it.

_There are places I'll remember_

_All my life, though some have changed_

_Some forever, not for better_

_Some have gone, and some remain_

_All these places had their moments_

_With lovers and friends, I still can recall_

_Some are dead, and some are living_

_In my life, I've loved them all_

Paul pondered for a moment about who the paper belonged to. _Definitely not a student… not Ringo either. It’s too… emotional. Could be George, but he’d never write anything on paper. There’s only one other person it could be…_

He sighed and put it back in his pocket, but after taking a few more steps, he stopped again to unfold it. Fumbling to take his phone out of his other pocket, he managed to take a half-decent picture.

“What are you doing?” asked a gruff voice behind him. Paul was startled and felt as if he’d been caught doing something blasphemous, dropping his phone in surprise. He turned around and frowned when he saw it was John. There was something different about John at that moment; he no longer had the glow that drew Paul to him in the first place.

“I believe this is yours,” he said, handing him the paper, “It’s really nice. A poem?”

“No,” John answered, “Song lyrics.”

“You should play the song for me.”

“Why?” John seethed and turned away, but Paul grabbed his arm and forcefully swiveled him back.

“John, I only asked you to tone it down a bit. A-and it’s not because I minded it, but I can’t focus on anything else while you’re… whatever that is,” he looked compassionately at John.

“Meet me in the field after school,” John said and left promptly. Paul considered going after him but decided that a talk after school would be adequate for now.

\--------------------------------------

When Paul entered the staff room, George and Ringo exchanged knowing looks.

“What?” Paul hissed.

“It’s not like you to be late,” George said, pursing his lips. Ringo nodded in agreement.

Paul sighed, ignoring them and going directly to the coffee pot. As he poured coffee into his mug, Ringo inched closer.

“Where’s John today?” he said nonchalantly, “You two seemed awfully close after just a day of meeting each other.”

“Doing his job, probably,” Paul sipped his coffee and pulled a face at how watery and bitter it was. _John’s spoiled me with a single cup._ “And we’re not that close. He’s just a friendly kind of guy.”

“Didn't seem so friendly when I saw him in the hallway! Wouldn't even stop to say hello!”

“I’m sure he had something very important to do.”

“In our measly school of a hundred students? Doubt it. He doesn't seem like the type to have anything important to do anyway.”

“Hey!” Paul snapped. He stayed silent after the sudden outburst until he finished his coffee and left for the office.

“Sounds like you hit a nerve there, Ringo,” George smirked.

“Poor sod looked like he was about to burst into tears.”

\--------------------------------------

Paul groaned, typing out a new form for the student field trip next week. He needed a distraction, though. John was right beside him, studying ‘Legal Implications of Elementary School Management’. If he was going to stay employed, he’d have to brush up on some terms and learn how to properly do his job; it was all very confounding, however, and he couldn’t help but sink into his chair and rub his eyes every few minutes. Paul wanted to say something but decided it was best to leave him alone for now, they’d managed not to talk for a few hours already. Why stop now?

When the bell rang, John grabbed his bag and left without a word. Paul wondered whether he’d forgotten about their meeting or simply decided not to go, but hopeful to get a chance to talk to him again, he sat on a bench at the end of the school field facing the forest. It was a small school with average students, but extraordinarily located. He closed his eyes and listened to the grass blowing in the wind, feeling his exposed forearm hairs standing up in response to the cool autumn breeze. He felt a tap on his shoulder and his eyes fluttered open to see John sitting beside him on the bench.

“John,” he smiled, “I thought you’d forgotten.”

“I don’t forget things,” John said, “Did you want to hear the song?”

Paul nodded and John reached for his guitar, slowly unzipping the case and pulling it out. The opening riff started with a wrong note, but he took a lungful of air and continued.

\--------------------------------------

_In my life, I’ll love you more._

He strummed the final crescendo and nervously turned to Paul, who was shielding his face.

“Did you hate it?” John murmured. He looked pleadingly at Paul, not pleading for a compliment, no, he was pleading for the truth. He lowered his head when he saw that Paul was covering his face – trying to conceal his laughs, perhaps?

Paul dropped his hands to reveal watery eyes and spoke with a shaky voice, “Did you really write that?”

“Yeah.” John spoke so softly that Paul could barely hear him. Paul considered saying more, to tell John that he liked the song. No – not liked. He _treasured_ it. He _loved_ it. But he decided the question he asked gave all the answers John needed. 

They sat silently on the bench for a few minutes until John spoke. “You should play something for me,” he said.

“Not after that, John. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow never knows, Paul.”

“And yet it still arrives. Patience, John.”

John returned his guitar to its case and strapped it on, walking with Paul to the front of the school.

“Coming to the staff meeting tomorrow?” Paul asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Make some more of that coffee, will ya?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Would you _please_ be so kind as to brew more of that delicious coffee of yours?” Paul batted his eyelashes and pouted his lips further.

“But of course, Paulie.”

Paul opened his mouth to reject the nickname, but it had already grown on him after just one utterance of the word on John’s thin lips.

_God, I really am a pushover, aren't I?_

\--------------------------------------

Paul lay in bed that night, debating whether or not to text John.

_Would I seem desperate? What would I say? Would a simple ‘hi’ suffice?_

He repeatedly typed and deleted prospective messages until he saw that John was online.

_SHIT. How long has he been on? Did he see me typing for 5 minutes straight?_

Not wanting to think of a proper text to send on the spot, Paul scrambled to set his status to online and scrunched up in a fetal position, hoping to fall asleep and forget the incident as soon as possible.

\--------------------------------------

On Wednesday, John was fashionably late to the staff room as usual. “Morning, Paulie,” he said.

Paul flushed and acknowledged him with a simple ‘John’, hoping that George and Ringo hadn't noticed what John called him. Alas, nothing escaped their scrutiny.

“ _Paulie?_ ”, Ringo narrowed his eyes, “George couldn't convince you to let him call you that for twenty quid!”

“Well, maybe I’m becoming more open minded!” Paul countered.

George and Ringo stifled a laugh while Paul shook his hand at them. At least today he’d get a proper coffee, never mind the torment.

“Here ya go,” John said, this time rotating the mug so that the handle was on Paul’s left.

“How thoughtful,” Paul raised his eyebrows. He tried to be inconspicuous while he drank the coffee but couldn't help letting out a few small whimpers which seemed to amuse John. He glared at him, but Paul’s attempt at a menacing look only threw John into a greater fit of laughter.

After the ritual morning fun, Paul and John were in the office twiddling their thumbs. They’d had no calls or late children today and it was already noon.

“Let’s go check on George,” John suggested. He couldn't resist the urge to raise the corners of his mouth slightly.

“Why? What’s your ulterior motive?” Paul tilted his head.

“Nothing! Shouldn't you be a good boss and check on your employees every once in a while? It’s not like we've got anything better to do.”

Paul reluctantly agreed and they made their way to the cafeteria. It was currently empty, but they heard some pots and pans clanging in the kitchen and moved to investigate.

“George, you okay there?” Paul asked.

“Uh… ye-yeah,” George replied weakly.

Paul gave John a concerned look and hurried into the kitchen to see what the struggle was. For some reason, John seemed more hesitant to go in, but he thought nothing of it.

“Ringo? What are you doing here with George?” Paul asked, crossing his arms. He noticed that both of them had messy hair and Ringo’s shirt was buttoned up wrong. Not to mention the red mark on George’s neck.

“I was… helping him with cooking. You know how helpless George is! And— don’t worry, this is my prep period.”

Paul stormed out and John followed; “You knew, didn't you?” Paul asked.

“I’m not completely oblivious like someone I know,” John replied cheekily, “I just thought you’d like to know the goings-on of your workplace.”

“Two years, I've been working with them! And not a single thought about… them… together… crossed my mind,” Paul said, frustrated, “You've been here, what, 3 days, and you've got everyone all figured out!”

“Paul… a blind man could've seen it.”

“It’s not like I’m angry or anything. All the best to them, but I thought I was one of their best mates!” Paul grumbled, “They should've told me.”

Paul turned his head right to avoid John’s gaze, only to set his eyes on George and Ringo who were at the doorway.

“Well, Paul, we always thought you were a bit conservative, y’know,” George spoke.

_Me? Conservative? Who could think that! It’s not like I… wear the same clothes everyday… or have had the same haircut for 6 years… or that my house is suspiciously clean…_

Paul cursed under his breath and pulled them into a surprisingly strong hug. “Carry on, then,” he chuckled.

Paul and John walked back to the office and checked for missed calls or forms that had been dropped off. After they were fairly certain nothing was missing, Paul fell back in the chair and thought to all the signs about George and Ringo that he had missed, shaking his head in pantomime. Before he even got through a third of them, the bell rang, and he grabbed his coat and documents.

“Eh, Paulie,” John said, wagging his finger, “Don’t forget your promise!”

"Uh... John? You wouldn't happen to have brought your guitar today, would you?"

"No, why?"

"Well, I may have left it back at my place."

"A promise is a promise."

_Shit._


	4. Chapter 4

Paul bit his lip, “You wouldn't happen to have brought your guitar with you, would ya?” he asked.

“No, why?” John asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t tell me you left it at home, ya daft sod.”

“I left it at home...”

“I told you not to tell me that!”

“I’m sorry… I guess we’ll have to postpone to tomorrow, yeah?”

“No! You said you’d play for me today and it’s going to happen. C'mon, you’re taking me to your house.”

_John and me, alone? Not- I’m not ready! What if something happens? But… it’s just a song, I suppose, isn't it? Nothing’s gonna happen, it’s alright._

Paul walked out of the office and looked back to see John still standing there, looking expectantly. “Well, make it snappy before I change my mind, will ya John?”

John rolled his eyes as if to say, ‘I could take a million years and you wouldn't change your mind’… and he wasn't wrong.

The ten-minute walk to Paul’s house almost destroyed him; he was hyper aware of John at all times, even when he wasn't looking at him. He felt John’s breath on him as he joked around – and whatever he was joking around about, Paul wasn't paying much attention. He felt the warmth of John’s hand radiating to his as they walked side by side, only an inch apart. He didn't just _feel_ the warmth, he was _fixating_ on it. He was _craving_ to feel more of his heat, slowly moving his hand closer and closer, trying to be careful not to—.

_SHIT, did he notice? No, what am I thinking? Our hands grazed, that’s ALL. I’m fine. Completely fine._ _It's not a big deal, Paul! Idiot!_

“Something on your mind, Paulie?” John asked.

“Uh, no! Not at all! In fact, here we are.” Paul awkwardly showed two thumbs up then got his keys out of his pocket. After fumbling around with them and finding the right key, he opened the door and locked it behind them.

John ran his hand across the wood paneling as he paced around the main floor. “Nice place,” he said, “Not at all what I expected.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but this house has got a lot of _character_ ,” he continued, “And you seem a bit… bookish. I haven’t known you a week yet, though, so what do I know?”

“No, you’re right. I am bookish most of the time, but when I’m alone it’s… different. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s alright. Sorry, can I use your washroom?”

“’Course”

Paul plopped down on the couch and waited pensively for John, biting his thumbnail and shaking his leg so fast it would make a drummer jealous.

“So?”

Paul looked cluelessly at John for a few seconds until he remembered the purpose of his visit and pinched the bridge of his nose before running upstairs to fetch his guitar. He’d been so caught up in thought that he’d forgotten the reason John was here.

“Do I come up?” John shouted up the stairs.

“No, I’ll come back,” Paul responded. Not a minute later, he returned with his guitar and sat back on the couch. John sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

“Isn't that uncomfortable?” Paul asked tentatively. _Am I trying to lure him beside me? No, that would be ridiculous._

“I like the view from here,” John winked playfully. Paul felt his face burn up and hurriedly checked his tuning to keep his mind off of John.

“That a right-handed guitar?” John asked.

“Yeah, it was my dad’s. I can play it upside-down,” Paul smiled. He could see the proud look on John’s face for having noticed.

John leaned forward expectantly, and Paul played a scale to get his fingers warmed up before beginning the song.

_Michelle, ma belle_

_These are words that go together well_

_My Michelle_

_Michelle, ma belle_

_Sont les mots qui vont très bien ensemble_

_Tres bien ensemble_

_I love you, I love you, I love you_

_That's all I want to say_

_Until I find a way_

_I will say the only words I know that_

_You'll understand_

\--------------------------------------

_My Michelle_

Paul’s voice faltered slightly on the last line and he slowly pushed his guitar aside before addressing John.

“What did you think?” Paul asked.

“You play the guitar so well,” John chuckled, “Hafta teach me sometime. As for the song… well... where can I change my name to Michelle?”

“No need,” Paul held up a finger and picked up his guitar.

_Lennon, ma belle_

_These are words that go together well_

_My Lennon_

“Wow,” John giggled, “Doesn't exactly have the same ring to it, but I feel honoured nonetheless.”

Paul giggled a bit at John’s remark and soon they were in full swing, their faces red as tomatoes from laughing. John moved from his spot on the floor to sit beside Paul on the couch and began to tickle him; Paul retaliated by grabbing a pillow and muffling John’s noises of protest, pinning him down on the couch in the process. John was able to escape, however, and threw the pillow to the other side of the room. They fell silent, needing a moment to catch their breaths.

“We’d make good partners, Paulie,” John said, nudging Paul.

“P-p-partners?”

“Yeah, you know, song writing partners.”

“Oh,” Paul said, looking down.

“Do I sense a hint of disappointment?” John smirked, pushing Paul’s head up by the chin to meet his gaze, but this time, replacing the warmth, there was disdain in his eyes.

“No, John! I-I’m not here to be your pet, okay? And I’m sick of your stupid games, you sodding player! Go flirt with George— o-or Ringo; they certainly wouldn't mind, would they? What did I ever do to deserve this?” Paul snapped, pushing John’s hand away.

“Is that what you think this is, Paul? Me playing _games_? Wanting you to be my _pet_? I’m not a fucking player, Paul! I’m damned serious about this, but clearly you think otherwise,” John spat and grabbed his coat, making his way to the door, “Jesus, you really don’t know me at all.”

“Wait! Can’t we… talk about this? Like civilized people?”

“Why? Clearly, you’re not ready. You've pushed me away twice, Paul, who are you kidding? I tried to reconcile, thought maybe you'd give it another go or something.” he said, using the key on the table to unlock the door.

Before Paul could say another word, John had left; slamming the door so hard he was afraid the house would collapse.

_Do I go after him? Will he be mad at me? Is he gone too far already? Aw—what the fuck!_

He left the house to go after John, not bothering to lock the door. He saw him not too far off in the distance and caught up to him, tapping his shoulder cautiously.

“Damn you and your long legs,” John hissed.

“Why, thank you,” Paul did a little curtsy, but he still had a concerned look on his face.

“Why did you come after me?”

“I was going to say something… but now I don’t know remember what.”

“So, you’re wasting my time?”

“You’re walking anyway, there’s no time being wasted.”

“Fine. Say your part, or don’t. Doesn't matter to me.”

Paul bit his knuckle and continued, “I’m scared, John.”

John stopped walking, sitting down on the nearest doorstep and motioning for Paul to do the same. He didn't say a word, but his intense stare seemed to bore into Paul’s soul, forcing the words out of his mouth.

“Why are you so forward? So… provoking?” Paul asked.

“Paul… I’m not like that with everyone. You should know that. I just—god, this is so cheesy.”

“I don’t mind cheesy,” Paul said, breaking into a slight smile.

“Well, when I saw you, I felt something. Y’know? I don’t know what it was, but, yeah,” John muttered, “And taking it slow is a pain in the arse. Specially when I needed you so much, yeah?”

“A pain in the arse,” Paul pondered.

“Shit, Paulie. I didn't know you were so _dirty_ ,” John snickered.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Paul said slyly.

They were now staring each other down, their faces only inches apart and moving a bit closer.

“What are we, playing chicken now?” John asked.

“Suppose so. And you should know, I’m not one to back down.”

“Neither am I.”

“Give us a kiss, then,” John kid.

The uncertain Paul who had pushed him away only a few minutes ago _surely_ wouldn't take him up on the joking offer, and yet he continued to lean in. He was close enough now that John could hear him gulp, Paul’s eyelashes almost brushing his face. John’s lips parted slightly, his warm breath dissipating on Paul’s mouth. There was no going back now, as John closed his eyes and Paul tilted his head, their lips pressing for a fleeting moment before Paul slowly pulled away.

John blinked for a few times, looking at Paul dumbfoundedly until he stood up; silently waving goodbye for the night before disappearing into the corner. John would have stayed on the doorstep a while longer to contemplate what had just happened, but he felt the air getting damp and looked up to see a cloudy, dramatic sky; ready to burst into a storm at a moment’s notice. Sighing, he got up and started jogging back to the school to get his bike.

\--------------------------------------

Paul ran into his house, collapsing on his knees and putting his hands over his head the moment the door slammed shut.

_I really just did that._

He rolled onto his back, feeling himself sink into the soft carpet as he ran a finger across his mouth. He grasped onto the feeling of John’s chapped lips on his before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“God, I’m desperate,” he muttered to himself, preparing to send a text to John. But what would he send? _‘Hey’_ would be too ambiguous, _‘I liked that’_ too desperate. Maybe _‘Let’s talk’_?

After a minute or two of racking his brain, he decided against sending a text at all. He would see him tomorrow anyway, and John _had_ left him on read, so it was his responsibility to send the next message. _Any accountable, self-respecting man would anyway. Right_? Plus, he should wait a day before sending a message. His thoughts were clouded by adrenaline right now, and he wasn't thinking straight.

He walked over to his guitar and gently strummed it. _You play the guitar so well,_ those words replayed in his head.

 _He_ _needed me so much_.

\--------------------------------------

John locked his bungalow, cursing under his breath. The dreaded storm had left him soaking wet, and his boots were treading muddy water inside. Kicking them off and then throwing the rest of his clothes in the hamper for washing, he hurried into the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Paul, Paul. All he could think about was _Paul_. “That damned tease,” he thought, “Claims I’m a bloody _Casanova_ when he’s the one walking around batting his lashes.”

He dried himself off and put on his house pants, falling in bed and picking a book from his library at random. He’d leafed through a few pages before realizing that he wasn't reading it at all; even the name of the book had escaped him, and he was too distracted by today’s events to do much else before sleeping. He lay back in bed, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

“Completely at peace”, he decided. Yet, an hour had passed, and he was still struggling to sleep. He’d tried sleeping on his left side, right side, stomach, one leg on top of the blanket, and with all possible pillow positions.

After 10 more minutes of struggling, he groaned and reached for his phone from the bedside table to check his messages with Paul. Had to know, after all.

He’d been online since… the _thing_.

“No new messages,” John said to himself, “The audacity on that lad. Leaves me on the doorstep with him on my mind and just _lets me be_.”

Slamming his face into the pillow, he closed his eyes one more time before quickly falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was hard to write, hope you like it!


	5. Chapter 5

Paul slung his bag across his shoulder and headed to school. He found himself more observant to the world around him, breathing in the fresh summer air. He noticed a flock of birds chirping and looked up as he walked along his daily route, appreciating the canopy of leaves that covered most of it. Though he quite liked the sun most of the year, he was glad for the trees in this hot weather. _Sweaty lad, I am._ He smiled, walking into the school and making his way to the staff room.

“Good morning, boys,” he beamed.

“Someone’s chipper today,” George said, crossing his arms, “Listen Paul, we should talk about what happened yesterday.”

Paul pursed his lips and cocked his head, “Uh… what happened yesterday?”

“Well, y’know,” George said, moving a finger between Ringo and himself.

“Ah!” Paul exclaimed, “That. Well, what is there to talk about? Good for you, chaps. Just… be discreet. Alright?” he patted George on the shoulder, pursing his lips.

“Is he okay?” Ringo whispered to George.

“Probably not… but… doesn’t really matter, does it?” George shrugged.

Paul took a seat at the stained wooden table in the middle of the room, browsing his phone for a few minutes before turning to see Ringo and George making sculptures with spaghetti and marshmallows. “Any of you seen John today?” he asked. They both shook their heads in unison without taking their eyes off the fragile ‘Eiffel tower’ they were creating. Paul bit his lower lip, confident that John would arrive in the next half-hour.

\--------------------------------------

30 minutes had passed, and the smile was wiped off of Paul’s face. Did he do something wrong yesterday evening? John was usually late, but not this late. The bell was going to ring in less than 5 minutes.

_P: Where are you, John? You have responsibilities, y’know._

Paul sent a message, deciding to suck up his pride. He wasn’t just sending it as a friend (or whatever they were), he was sending it as a boss whose employee had neglected to show up at work on time. He looked over at George and Ringo again, their tower more deformed than it had been the last time Paul saw it.

“Bye lads,” he said, half-smiling, before going to the office.

It was eerily silent, with Paul being alone. Even before he’d met John, the previous vice-principal was quite chatty. He missed Stuart. They were good friends and talking to him didn’t carry the same weight on Paul’s shoulders as talking to John did. They used to talk about birds and the weather. Simple things. They didn’t linger in Paul’s mind, but he enjoyed their little talks.

“Where the hell is John?” Paul asked himself, his nails digging into the chair’s armrests.

_Why did I kiss him? How could I be so stupid?_

He let his head fall on the desk in front of him, feeling his eyes getting damp and rubbing them before he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. _Probably one of those telemarketers._ He ignored it until it stopped buzzing, but a few seconds later it started again. Paul moved his feet and rolled his chair away from the desk, pulling out his incessantly vibrating phone before seeing the caller ID.

“Martin Hospital,” it said. Paul thought it odd, as he didn’t have any relatives living near enough to go to that hospital.

“Hi,” he said after answering, “You must have the wrong number.”

“Paul?” asked the voice on the other end of the phone. The raspy speech was unmistakably John’s.

“John? W—What’s going on? Are you alright?” Paul shouted into the phone.

“Uh—yeah, everything’s fine. Car ran into me while I was biking, but it wasn’t that bad,” John said, speaking slowly as if he were choosing his words carefully, “Listen, I won’t be able to make it to work today. Hope that’s alright, innit?”

“Yeah, ‘course. How long are you gonna be there?” Paul asked, pacing around the room and running a hand through his hair.

“At least ‘till the evening.”

“I’ll come visit,” Paul said with conviction.

“No, don’t bother. I’ll be fine. It’s nothing, ‘kay?”

“I’ve got naught to do, alright? Don’t try to be clever, eh?”

“See you later then, I suppose.”

“Yup,” Paul spoke and hung up. He cracked his fingers and sighed. Was it bad that he felt slightly relieved by the fact that John had gotten into a _car accident_ instead of abandoning him? It didn’t seem like a terrible accident over the phone, but John could have been underreacting. The more he pondered the thought, the more his eyebrows seemed to scrunch up in worry.

\--------------------------------------

“John, wake up,” Paul said, poking his arm. It was already dark out and he’d been waiting far too long at reception to care about sleeping beauty’s shut-eye, and he nearly jumped on the bed in concern when he saw the bruises on John’s face and arms.

John groaned and opened his eyes; the world around him was incredibly blurry, and he couldn’t identify the figure leaning over him. “Who is it?” he asked, shuffling his unkempt hair out of his eyes (not that it helped much without his contacts in or glasses on).

“Don’t recognize my beautiful voice? You’re not really John Lennon,” Paul laughed, moving his hand toward John’s a little bit but pausing as if to ask permission. John smiled and clasped it between both of his.

“Me ears are ringing, Paulie,” he uttered weakly, “May have to stay a few more days.”

“Didn’t seem so bad over the phone,” Paul said, “Get into another accident in the meantime, did you?”

John laughed a bit before getting into a coughing fit and worrying Paul. He motioned for a nurse before the coughs subsided and John waved him back.

“No, I’m fine. I’m not lying this time, alright? Just don’t make any more jokes and I won’t die. Promise.”

“Why’d you lie the first time?” Paul asked, scratching his ear.

“Didn’t wanna inconvenience you, I suppose,” John responded, brushing his thumb on the back of Paul’s hand.

“It’s no inconvenience, okay?” Paul raised his voice, “And I swear if I ever see the tosser who did this to you…”

“Don’t, Paul. ‘Twas half my fault. Forgot to signal, the stupid bastard I am.”

“Well don’t be stupid again!” Paul nearly yelled, “I need my vice-principal alive, don’t I?”

“For… work purposes, I suppose,” John said sassily.

Paul paused for a second; his eyes were still looking in John’s direction, but they seemed to be focused somewhere far away. “Was it a mistake?” he asked.

“Was what a mistake?”

“You know full well what I’m talking about,” Paul continued, “Last night…”

John’s smile vanished into a solemn expression, his nails digging into Paul’s hand, demanding his attention. He shook his head slowly yet adamantly before closing his eyes and sinking into the white sheets.

“You should go home now,” he said, “I can’t stay awake for long, much as I’d like to.”

“I’m not going,” Paul retorted as if it were a given.

“What, you’re gonna sleep in that wooden chair? Paul the princess? It’s practically backless!” John scoffed.

“Yeah! I’m not a _princess_ , y’know, I may look like one but I’m really quite tough. They call me Paul the Destroyer.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John mocked him.

“Go to sleep already, insolent child,” Paul laughed.

John shifted a bit and closed his eyes. He was exhausted from head to toe, and nothing could keep him awake anymore; not even Paul’s watchful gaze boring through his pale skin, or his hand resting heavily on his chest, feeling its steady rise and fall.

Paul could stay like this forever, he thought. _If only I d drunk more coffee…_


	6. Chapter 6

_Ring-Ring_

Paul’s jarring alarm tone drove his head up; but he kept his eyes closed, ignoring the blaring noise until he remembered that he was still in the hospital with John. He wouldn’t want to wake him up, or worse, cause a disturbance in the institution. He began to reach for his phone with his dominant hand until he noticed it still rested on John’s chest, leaving it there until he finished dismissing his alarm and had to pull the hand away to take his bag. _Duty calls,_ he thought before checking the time and realizing he didn’t need to leave right away.

He considered going back home to shower and change his clothes, but decided he’d probably be late for work if he did and lay his bag back on the ground. He had a few minutes left before he had to leave, after all. He turned his gaze back to John and watched his eyes scurry under his eyelids for a few seconds until he noticed a low hum and leaned in closer, listening to the quiet tune that John purred in his sleep. Paul closed his eyes, the melody pulling vivid images from the depths of his memory.

“It’s hot…” Paul thought, pulling on his collar and feeling as if the temperature had just risen 10 degrees. He heard dozens of footsteps crushing untrimmed grass, a faint bustle in the background. His heart sped up in excitement and anticipation, though he didn’t know what for. Children were screaming and he heard what sounded like a lorry barreling down the street, the noise emanating from its engine nearly masking the sound of ragged guitar playing and a scruff voice belting out nonsense lyrics.

“Wait… I know! It’s—it’s!”

The recollection slowly faded when John stopped humming, and though Paul fought to grasp some last bits and pieces of information, it wasn’t enough. He quickly took out a piece of paper from his bag, nearly ripping it in half as he hurried to scribble a few crude lines to help him remember the melody. Paul could never read sheet music, but he knew enough about it to record at least the impression of a melody in ascending and descending streaks. He’d visit John again this evening and ask him about the song.

\--------------------------------------

Paul strode into the staff room, exhausted from the chaotic week. It had worn him out both mentally and physically, but at least it was Friday; a half day for both students and employees. He laid down on the creaky blue couch in the corner, sipping coffee he bought on the way. Paul never bought coffee, but he was too tired to make one himself and John wasn’t available to make him one. Ringo or George wouldn’t make one for him unless he begged on his knees.

“You alright, Paul?” Ringo asked from his chair at the table. Paul craned his neck in Ringo’s direction and thought it odd that George wasn’t with him.

“Yeah, just tired, that’s all,” Paul said, “Say, where’s George?”

“Oh, we’re out of biscuits,” Ringo exhaled sharply, “John still hasn’t turned up, eh?”

Paul slapped his leg. _‘Course I forgot to tell them._

“Ah, he’s not skipping work actually. He called me yesterday to tell me he was in the hospital; just a small biking accident, nothing serious.”

“How can you be sure he’s not lying?”

“I went to the hospital and he was there, I even sp—you arsehole!” Paul tightened his grip on the coffee cup and cursed himself silently for falling for Ringo’s ploy to get more information.

Ringo smirked, “You even what? Sp-oon fed him? Sp-iked his IV tube?”

“No! Nothing so stupid!” Paul sat up and violently put his coffee on the stained white table in front of him, “I only spent the night.”

Ringo looked speculatively at him, examining his neck for red marks. “You _only_ spent the night? Gee, moving quickly there, Paul.”

Paul rolled his eyes and dismissed the remark with a wave of his hand, hoping that any second George would walk in here and distract Ringo.

“Your cheeks are getting a bit hot.”

“Oh, shut up will ya! It’s the flaming coffee burning up my insides. You're not helping either.”

Paul ground his teeth together, ready to strangle Ringo the next time he opened his mouth. Luckily for him, George returned with a half-empty box of biscuits; Ringo had more important matters to attend to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short! I haven't found much time to write recently and just I thought I should post most of what I have so far :)


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